


Crossing Lines

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Tatsuya doesn’t want this, but he does, and right now the want is winning.





	Crossing Lines

**Author's Note:**

> for dw user murphym
> 
> prompt was 'between the lines'

Tatsuya doesn’t notice it until it’s been going on for some time. It’s like what they say about thinning hair, that you only notice once thirty percent is gone, a thought that makes him want to reach up and touch his head to check for bald spots. There are things pressing harder on his mind, though, or one thing in particular, the way Taiga’s been acting. Tatsuya could brush it all off as an accident, Taiga’s hand lightly touching his own, the heat of Taiga’s thigh millimeters away from his, Taiga leaning in a little too close when they’re both cooking something over the same hot stove, but Taiga’s spatial awareness is too good. And it’s no accident when Taiga’s arm drapes over Tatsuya’s shoulder or his hand falls to the small of Tatsuya’s back. 

It could mean anything. It could be that repairing their relationship has caused them to go through the same motions all over again, like when they were in middle school and Tatsuya had had to remind Taiga several times that they were too old to hold hands. He’d hated it, from the look on Taiga’s face to the absence of Taiga’s hand in his, but it had been necessary, or at least Tatsuya had thought so at the time. (And, in hindsight, there might have been another component--though is Tatsuya just projecting the uncomfortable emotions he has now onto his past self? Had he wanted Taiga like this, back then or had he only wanted to keep him as a friend and so-called younger brother?)

It could be the way Taiga is now with everyone, physically affectionate in broad strokes. But Tatsuya watches, and there’s nothing more than casual back-slaps between Taiga and his friends and teammates, a shove or a poke here and there, but even when he’s looking to give a generous reading it’s nothing like the way he is with Tatsuya. It could be Taiga reassuring Tatsuya that he means a lot, but if that’s what it was, Taiga would say it too. And it could be Taiga’s subconscious, that he feels like he should. 

It could be, knowingly or not, that Taiga wants him, too, and the thought of the possibility makes Tatsuya’s blood freeze through and explode like a can of soda left in the freezer. There are so many connotations, so many threads branching out from a dangerous thought like that, that will bind and constrict and trip him up. Taiga has crossed no line, but Tatsuya’s at the very least between one line and the next, and letting himself unlock the vault with that thought inside will shove him over to the other side.

He thinks it anyway.

It’s bad, if Taiga wants him too. Feeling this way is bad; Taiga wants Tatsuya as a friend and trusts him enough for that after all that’s happened to them, and responding to that with desire is unacceptable. Tatsuya should have predicted it, though; he will always yearn for more, friends over enemies, brothers over friends, rivals over brothers, something more than all of that, the natural conclusion to the chain. Satisfying that would open another door to another want, pull Tatsuya farther down the hole of his own greed. It’s bad if Taiga wants him too, because then Tatsuya has to invariably disappoint him, by telling him they can’t. Or by saying yes and making Taiga regret it. Or by ignoring and deflecting so that Taiga never brings it up.

It’s bad, probably less so, if Taiga doesn’t want him, and this is all something else, or in Tatsuya’s head. Then all Tatsuya has to do is make sure he doesn’t give himself away, and he’s fairly certain he hasn’t yet. This will pass. He just can’t assume that Taiga wants him and then show himself, though--Taiga wouldn’t make it awkward. They’ve been through worse, though each time it’s Tatsuya’s fault, Tatsuya’s feelings that he lets get in the way like animals breaking off their leashes. 

He’ll stay on the safe side, the side of probability. He’s seeing what he wants to see, reciprocated interest that’s been fabricated out of friendly affection. That’s genuine, and irreplaceable. 

So what if he leans into the touches? He’s over the line, over the next several already, thanks to the paths his thoughts are so anxious to go down. He’s responding in kind to Taiga, a shoulder bump here or a quick touch there, teetering on the edge of indulging the fantasies he won’t allow himself to have, Taiga’s mouth on his, Taiga’s strong arms around him as he whispers Tatsuya’s name, the air crackling against Tatsuya’s skin. He’s delusional. He is still skirting the border--it’s not as if he’s going for a hug himself, a touch that’s outright flirty. He needs to stop; he tells himself that every time, but continues to ignore his own reprimands.

It’s like he’s a frog on the stove; soon enough the water will boil him alive.

“Tatsuya,” Taiga says.

He’s staring straight at Tatsuya, not with a look of admiration or pain, neutrality or hope. It’s difficult to read in a way that Taiga rarely is. 

Tatsuya shifts backward on the couch. He’s not backing away; he’s just repositioning himself. 

Taiga’s gaze is steady. “Do you trust me?”

Tatsuya nods. The one he doesn’t trust is himself. Taiga won’t fuck it up like he will.

The kiss is firm, much shorter than Tatsuya wants it to be. He thinks, only, of wanting more of that, of wanting Taiga, and before he pulls away Tatsuya brings him back in. He realizes, when they part a second time, out of breath, that he’s forgotten to be ashamed and guilty about it, the feelings creaking on a roof over his head but not falling down to drench him quite yet. 

Taiga is grinning as bright as a fountain in the summer sun; his hands reach out and clasp Tatsuya’s, enveloping them (Tatusya can’t even hate how much bigger Taiga is). 

“You do want this too.”

Tatsuya can’t even be mad that Taiga had figured it out, that this is only an affirmation of something he’d already thought, that despite years of being apart and Taiga’s claims of inability to see through him, he reads Tatsuya as clearly as a road sign. Tatsuya isn’t angry, but all of this pushes and pulls at the speeches he’d prepared for the just-in-case-this-actually-happens moment, the polite denials, the things that it was convenient to pretend Taiga wouldn’t see right through. Tatsuya doesn’t want this, but he does, and right now the want is winning.


End file.
